


bodyparts

by deathstranded



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: #HannibaLibre, Body Horror, Creepy Hannibal, Cuba, Hannibal Loves Will, I Don't Even Know, I haven't written in ages, M/M, Mild Gore, Murder Husbands, No Plot/Plotless, Sleepwalking, Soulmates, This is Bad, Will Loves Hannibal, bc they're in cuba i guess, but not, creepy will, just mild tho, they're both creepy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 08:29:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9226760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathstranded/pseuds/deathstranded
Summary: cuba. they share beds and body parts.





	

They sleep in the same bed. 

Not because Hannibal is in love with him, and not because of sex – they have not crossed that border, not yet.

They sleep in the same bed because when they heaved themselves out of the sea, waterlogged, slithering along the sand like dying snakes, they had collapsed, half on top of one another, hands intertwined. And when they had slept for the first time in the car Will had later torched they had faced one another on the seats leant all the way back. And when they had slept for the first time – properly, the first time in years – on the boat, between the American shore and Cuba – they had shared a bed. 

There was one bed on the boat. They had no option but to share it. 

They were exhausted. 

They slept.

The first time Will had woken up and seen Hannibal’s face he hadn’t even flinched. Things felt fine. 

-

They continued to share a bed after that, used to the comfort of having another warm body close by. When they arrived in Cuba they did not even think of using the second bed in the too-small too-hot room they were shown by the old lady proprietor.

Instead they dropped their belongings on the floor and dropped their bodies onto the mattress and dropped into a sleep like that of the dead.

-

They fell into an easy intimacy, somewhere along the line. 

Not that they hadn’t always been that way – intimate. 

Somewhere between Baltimore and Cuba. 

The rooms they rented were so small it was hard not to slide past one another in the mornings, half-dressed, hands moving to catch and balance each other’s hips as they passed. 

They breathed the same air. 

They knew what the world looked like through one another’s eyes. 

-

After a few weeks Hannibal finds them a house. 

An old crumbling villa, a little way out of town, with a beautiful sea view. It is set back from the road, behind a high stone wall and a big iron gate, and it is strangled with vines. 

They drink the night they move in; red wine. They sit in the living room with the doors to the veranda open. Outside it is warm and in the distance they hear music and locals and tourists laughing and shouting. They sit on sofas opposite one another. At some point Will’s bare feet end up on Hannibal’s chair. 

“Bedelia said you were in love with me,” Will says. He has been waiting to say it for so long. He hadn’t known he would say it tonight. He feels as though Hannibal’s soft gaze reached into his mouth and pulled his tongue forth from his throat, spilling the words across their laps. 

Hannibal says nothing for a long moment. 

Will fights the urge to get to his feet, reach forwards, force Hannibal’s jaw down, make him speak.

Eventually he says, “I am.”

Now Will does not know what to say. 

Hannibal says, “I thought you must know.”

Will says, “I did. I thought…maybe.”

They look away from one another; look outside, at the sunset. 

Hannibal says, “Do my feelings make you uncomfortable?”

Will thinks about it. “No,” he says at last, because it is true. He enjoys having Hannibal’s gaze draped over him; wearing his eyeballs like a fine velvet robe. Enjoys it in a way he’s never enjoyed being watched before. 

-

Hannibal watches him all the time. 

At night, sometimes Will wakes up and through the pitch black sees a shape looming at his side; feels that stare through the darkness. 

He luxuriates in it.

Hannibal never touches him at night.

-

Another night he awakes to a sound between the foot of the bed and the dark corner by the wardrobe. A sound like hooves, like a wet slither, like blood dripping, like feathers rustling. 

“Hannibal,” he calls, and the darkness stills. 

He waits, silently, but Hannibal does not move. After a while he blinks, and Hannibal is at his side once again, on his back, breathing, slowly, deeply, evenly. 

It must have been a dream, Will thinks.

-

“I dreamt of you last night,” Hannibal says, one night when it is hot, and the sea is roaring outside, and they cannot sleep. “You lay me down and cut me open and pulled me inside out. Then you sewed me back together.”

“That wasn’t a dream,” Will says, one arm tossed across his face. 

Hannibal grins – Will hears it – and says, “I suppose not.”

-

The first time they have sex, they are covered in blood. Only fitting, Will supposes. 

Hannibal had returned home late, after midnight. 

Will had been frantic. 

The body had flopped against the bathroom tiles, scrabbling weakly at the lip of the bath tub. 

“You’re bleeding,” Will had said, and he made Hannibal sit down on the toilet. 

“Just a scratch,” Hannibal had said, whilst the man who had recognised Will at the harbour that afternoon had bled out on the floor. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” Will had said, pressing cotton and gauze against the deep scrape on Hannibal’s forearm. 

Hannibal had looked plaintively at him, and said, “I can’t lose you again.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Will had said, and he’d kissed him. 

They’d made love then, in their bed, staining the sheets. Will gasped and kicked against the mattress, feeling as though Hannibal had crawled up inside him and was wearing him like a glove. 

-

One night, Will wakes up. Through the dark, he hears feet against the rough wooden floors. The boards creak and Hannibal inhales through his nose.

Will rolls over, seeing a glimmer of greying hair in the dim; the edge of a cheekbone; the curve of a wrist. 

“Baby, come back to bed,” Will says, and eventually, the bed dips at his side, and Hannibal is back, still fast asleep. 

Through the window, the sea sparkles under the moon, swallowing the sand, eroding the shore.

-

Sometimes Will looks in the mirror and thinks he sees Hannibal looking back.

He imagines being able to unzip his skin, step out, put Hannibal’s on. The thought is insanely erotic. 

He would like the cut open his chest, unfasten his ribcage, make a space for Hannibal in there.

He supposes he already has.

-

“Do you ever think,” Will asks one night, when Hannibal hovers over his body, kissing his neck and his jaw like a vampire, “that we might be soulmates?”

“The concept of soulmates is a foolish one,” Hannibal says. He is deep between Will’s legs; inside his stomach; his throat. “We were not made for each other this way. We broke each other’s bones until we were shaped like this.”

Will thinks this is the most romantic thing he’s ever heard. 

“I think I like that much better,” he says, and he kisses him back; consumes him whole.


End file.
